


Places Apart

by phdfan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang, F/M, Falling Apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdfan/pseuds/phdfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the days leading up to the crisis in Kirkwall, Marian Hawke and Anders find themselves falling apart.  Written for the Dragon Age Reverse Flash Bang 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Places Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [When I Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360003) by [janiejanine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janiejanine/pseuds/janiejanine). 



> It was an absolute pleasure to write this for the Dragon Age Reverse Flash Bang 2014, in response to janiejanine's fanmix ['When I Go'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2360003). I was also very lucky to be working alongside jade_sabre who wrote [her own response to janie's fanmix](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2355680). Thank you both for waiting for me to post due to transit delays and timezone differences, and thank you for making this such an enjoyable DARBB!

_Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,_

_Should in despite of light keep us together._

_~ John Donne, ‘Break of Day’_

**Hawke:**

She wakes in the middle of the night and the bed beside her is empty.  Blinking sleep-blurred eyes, she pulls on her housecoat and pads down the stairs towards the light spilling from the library.  He doesn’t turn around when she pushes open the door.

His quill scratches against the parchment as he writes, his hand moving in quick, desperate lines, occasionally interrupted as he dips the nib into the ink well.

“Anders?” she says, her voice softened by fatigue.

He ignores her, and she walks forward, past the banked fire, and puts a hand on the feathered pauldrons.

“Hey,” she says, even softer.  “Won’t you come to bed?”

He looks up at her then.  His eyes are wells of shadow, his lips dry and cracking, and there’s a smudge of ink across his cheek.  “Soon,” he says, and turns back to his work.  “I’m nearly done.”

Hawke restrains a sigh.  Further pleading, she has learnt, will be useless.  So she pulls the housecoat further around her thin nightdress, curls up on the chair in the corner, and watches him work.  He doesn’t look up again, and the rhythmic scratches of the quill tip soothe her to sleep.

His hand on her shoulder, gently shaking, wakes her, and she blinks up at his looming shadow.

“What time is it?” she asks.

“Bedtime,” he says, and before she knows what’s happening his arms are under her knees and back, and he’s bodily lifting her out of the chair, up the stairs, to place her gently on the bed.

He quickly shucks off his robe and pauldrons, and joins her beneath the covers.  Marian turns to him, and buries her face in the sparse hair that dots his chest.

“I miss you,” she says, muffled against his breastbone.

“I know,” he replies, and strokes her hair until she falls asleep.

~^~

**Anders:**

 “Where are you going?”

She’s standing in the door of the library.  Her hands aren’t on her hips, but they may as well be.  He can read it in the wide-spaced stance.  Angry.  Defensive.

He turns back to his task of gathering up the loose pages of his manifesto.

“Out,” he says.  “I have errands to run.”

“Where?”

She has become more insistent lately.  Where she once would have accepted his word, she has become more demanding, more suspicious.  He wishes he could say that it was unfounded.

“Lowtown,” he says, and hopes that she’ll leave it at that.

“I can come,” she says.  “Maybe give you a hand.”

“No!” he says, much too quickly for it to sound normal.   He gives up the pretence of organising his manifesto, and turns to her.  She’s looking at him, tears in her eyes, but her mouth is set in a determined line.  “I can’t have you involved in this, I just can’t.”

“What is _this_ , Anders?  What are you doing?  What are you hiding?”  Her tone is desperate, pleading, so unlike the Hawke he once knew.

He shakes his head.  “It’s safer if you don’t know,” he said grimly.  “For you – and for me.”

This silences her, as he knew it would.

“Okay,” she says eventually.  “Okay.”  She lifts her hand to worry at her hair, and he takes pity on her and rushes forward, wrapping his arms around her.

“I know you just want to help,” he says, pressing his lips against her forehead.  “You’re already doing so much.”

“Not enough,” she said, shaking her head.  An idea strikes him, even as he shrinks from it.  He leans his cheek against the top of her hair, so she can’t see his face.

“There is something that you could do for me,” he says.

“Anything, Anders, you know that.”

“I need you to try to get Elthina to see what’s happening.”

“I’ve already done that.”  She sounds disappointed.  “You know she is avoiding the issue.”

“But I’ve finished my manifesto now,” he says.  “It could change her mind.  I need you to try, _please_.”

“Okay,” Hawke says, but she sounds doubtful.  “If you really want me to.”

“Isn’t it worth it to try?” he asks.  “For Bethany’s sake, if no one else’s?”

She stiffens in his arms and Anders pulls back to see her eyes tightly closed.  She nods, her lips pressed together.  “I’ll try again,” she says, and opens her eyes.

“Thank you,” Anders says, and smiles.  “Wait until I come back, I won’t be long.”  She nods again.

“I love you, Marian,” he says, and kisses her.

~^~

**Hawke:**

It is a waste of time.  Always had been.  The old woman would just not see reason.  She could not – refused to – understand that Kirkwall was a keg of blackpowder that one spark would set alight.

Anders seems in a good mood, despite the failure of the afternoon.  He whistles as he walks beside her back to the Estate, something she has not heard him do in months.

“Why are you so cheerful?” she asks.  “It was your suggestion to go to Elthina, and you saw the result of it.”

“It’s not completely fruitless, love.  I’m sure she’ll see reason, given time.”

Hawke sighs.  “That’s the one thing we may not have,” she says.  “Can’t you feel the tension?  It’s like the whole city is waiting – for something.”

“It’s just the season,” Anders says dismissively.  “One good storm will clear that feeling away.”

Impulsively, Hawke reaches out and takes Anders’ hand.  “I’m so glad you’re with me,” she says.  “I couldn’t imagine doing any of this without you.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to,” he says, and presses dry lips to the back of her hand.

~^~

**Anders:**

She sleeps sprawled across the bed.  He gently traces the length of one arm, thrown across his side, and eases himself out from under it.

He makes his way downstairs, lights the fire and the candles with a thought, and sits down at the desk to write.  He pulls a piece of parchment from the drawer, picks up the quill, carefully wipes off the excess ink, and poises himself to write.

How to begin?

 _Dear Hawke_ , he writes.

Too impersonal.  He scrunches the paper into a ball and tosses it into the flames. 

 _Dear Marian,_ he writes.  And it sounds better.

_By the time you get this it will all be over.  I don’t know what will happen to me, but the chances are that I will no longer be with you._

He pauses momentarily.  He doesn’t really want to think about the consequences.  Death, likely.  Perhaps Tranquility, if they decide to be merciful.  He isn’t sure which would be better.  Shaking himself, he continues.

_I’m sorry that it’s come to this.  You will probably blame Justice, but it’s not his fault.  This war needs to happen. The Templar’s rule cannot continue as it has.  Not in Kirkwall, not anywhere.    I’m sorry that I will be responsible for starting everything that you’ve tried so hard to prevent.  If I could do things differently, if I could be a different man, I would be, for you.  But I am the man you fell in love with, and this is what I have to do.  I know you can’t understand that, but I ask you anyway – please forgive me.  Forgive me for all of the pain I will cause you.   This is bigger than you and I, and everything that could have been between us.  I wish that wasn’t true._

_I love you Marian.  I just wish that could take everything else away._

He reads it through and shakes his head.  It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, but words could never be.  He signs his assumed name with a flourish, blots it carefully, and places the folded note on the library mantelpiece.  He stands there, staring into the fire for a long moment, before turning to walk back up the stairs to her bedroom.

He feels like an old man.

~^~

**Hawke:**

The ash floats down around them like macabre confetti.  The light has faded, but its reflection is burned onto her retina, a ghostly image that haunts everything she looks at.

No one is moving.  Orsino and Meredith, moments ago at each other’s throats, are staring weakly at the spot where the Chantry’s tower once stood, like puppets suddenly cut from their strings.  Even Anders is stock still, his face turned away from the flames.

Sebastian is the only one who has reacted, and his wailing grates on Hawke’s ears.  She turns to Anders suddenly, viciously.

“ _Why?_ ”

When he looks at her, his eyes are brown and it hits her that _he_ is the one who has done this.Not a disembodied spirit inhabiting his body, but _him_.  The man she has shared her bed, her table, her _life_ with for the last five years.  He shakes his head sadly.  It is too late for recriminations.  Too late for pointless questions like ‘why’.  She had seen it coming, she belatedly realises.  Had seen it coming, and did nothing.

“You asked me to see Elthina,” she says, flinging the words at him.  “You came with me.”  The guilt across his face flashes into her heart.  “No,” she says, shaking her head.  “No, don’t tell me you used me to-” She can’t finish the accusation.

“I’m sor-” he starts, but she turns and stalks away.  She can’t hear it.  Not now.

Orsino and Meredith have shaken themselves from their daze.

“You see why mages must be feared,” Meredith addresses Hawke.  “The corruption has gone too far.  The Circle is beyond saving.  It _must_ be annulled.”

“We had nothing to do with this, Meredith!”  Orsino protests.  “It was Hawke’s companion who-.”

But Meredith was not listening.  Her attention is focused solely on Hawke.  “Are you with me, Champion?”

Hawke glances at Anders.  Who was to say that she was not, in some way, responsible for this atrocity.  She, who had harboured an apostate, who had enabled his plans.  The guilt weighs down upon her, and she knows that her choice will determine her fate.  She looks towards the group of friends who have stood by her for so many years, who are still standing beside her.  Varric looks at her as if to say, ‘We’re here for you whatever you decide.’

She turns back to Meredith.   “I can’t,” she says, and is surprised at the reluctance in her own voice.  “My sister is a mage.  I won’t let her pay for another’s crimes.”

Meredith shakes her head in disgust.  “It is a mistake,” she says.  “Although one too easily made.”  She turns to the Templars flanking her, “I will not let the corruption continue.  To the Gallows!” And the Templars follow her from the courtyard.

Orsino comes forward.  “Thank you,” he says, taking her hand and pressing it.  “We have a chance now.  But what will you do about him?”  He glances over to where Anders sits nearby, by all appearances calmly awaiting his fate. 

“I don’t know,” she says helplessly.

Orsino holds up his hands.  “I will leave him to your judgement.  But whatever you decide, be swift about it.  Meredith will not delay long.”

She watches Orsino leave before turning to look at the stranger sitting on the crate.  Why was it left to her to decide?  She would have much rather had someone, anyone, else make the decision of his fate.  She cannot be a reliable judge.  She is compromised, hopelessly.  She looks to Aveline.

“Aveline,” she says weakly, imploringly, but the Knight Captain shakes her head.

“This is your decision, Hawke,” she says.  “Not mine.  You know him best.”  It is grossly unfair, coming from someone used to meting out judgement.  Something of her thoughts must show in her face, for Aveline’s expression softens.  “Just like Wesley,” she says gently.  “It’s your call.”

With heavy steps, Hawke walks over to Anders.  He looks up at her and his expression is misery.

“Why,” she says.  “Just tell me why.”  Her tone reminds her of a wounded bird, flapping desperately in an attempt to make for the sky.

“There’s nothing I can say, Hawke.  I’ve done what I’ve done, and I will pay for it.”

“It’s not you who will pay,” Hawke says, and anger thrusts its way up from her bowels.  “It is people like Bethany who will pay.  People who have done nothing wrong.  The people you once said you wanted to protect.”

He sits there, mute.  Hawke begins to pace, gesturing as she speaks.

“I don’t know who you are.  The Anders I knew was a healer.  And you -” She shakes her head.  She can’t put her anger into words.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“Defend the people you condemned,” Hawke says, her face twisting into a scowl.

“And with me?” he asks softly.  Then, after a moment, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad it will be you.”

“No,” Hawke says, and stops pacing abruptly.  She can’t kill him.  She turns towards him, and cuts the air with a hand.  “You don’t get to die.  You have to live, with all the consequences of your choices.”  She turns away, not trusting herself to face him, and speaks to him over her shoulder.  “But I don’t want to see you again.”

She hears him stand up from the crate, his footsteps growing nearer.  “Marian?” he says weakly.

“You heard me.  Go.  Run.  I never want to see you again.”

He pauses for a long moment.  “As you wish,” he says, and she hears him turn, pick up his staff, and slowly move away.

She does not turn around until Varric walks over to her.  “He’s gone, Hawke,” he says.  “And we have a sister to save.”

~^~

They flee the city together, but she doesn’t feel safe until they reach the mountains.  It has been a long time since Hawke has needed to read the landscape, but she finds a small clearing where they can spend the night in relative peace.

“Will they follow us here?” Bethany asks, as they gather wood for the fire.

“No,” Hawke says, earnestly hoping that it is true.  “They’ll have too much on their hands keeping Kirkwall together.  And if Cullen stays in control, he’ll make sure no Templars come after us.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Bethany asks.

It’s not something Hawke wants to contemplate.  “I don’t know.  It depends on who they think is responsible for what happened.”

“Us or Anders?” Bethany asks.

“Yes,” Hawke says, though she’s fairly sure that no matter how it’s judged she will be held responsible.  After all, it’s only the truth.  They bring the wood they have gathered into the clearing, and Hawke begins to sort it into kindling.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bethany asks.

“Talk about what?”

“Anders.  I know that you and he – were close.”

Hawke shuts her eyes.  “More than close,” she said.  “And no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Bethany starts the fire with her magic, and it reminds Hawke so strongly of their time together in Lothering that tears involuntarily spark in her eyes.   She’s grateful to leave the clearing to hunt for game.  When she comes back, the tears are gone and a fresh rabbit is slung over her shoulder.    Bethany is silent while she skins and guts it and spits it over the flames.

The moon rises over the clearing after they’ve eaten, and Hawke lays down in the dirt to watch its passage.  Where is Anders now?  Alive, she hoped.  And watching this very same moon.  She pulls his letter from her pocket and fingers the creased paper.  It hadn’t told her anything that she didn’t already know, but it had been hard to see it written out.  And damn it all, she _did_ forgive him.  For what he did to her, if not what he brought down on Thedas.  She tucks the letter back into her vest and rolls onto her side, her back towards the fire.

~^~

**Anders:**

Anders shivers in the darkness, unable to light a fire.  The Templars could still be out there, watching.  Waiting for him to reveal himself.  He would not give them the pleasure of finding and killing him.

Holding his cloak closer around him, he looks up through the ruined roof towards the moon.  It looms large and low over the coastal shack, so close that it seems he could pluck it from the sky.  He smiles as he imagines the moon bathing Hawke in its gentle light as she slept on her bed.  Alone, perhaps, and with tear-stained cheeks, but warm and safe.  The thought blossoms into warmth in his chest, and the night seems less hostile.

He imagines climbing into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her.  She would turn to him, a smile on her face – she always liked it when he would put aside his work to come to bed with her.  She would kiss him, and he would run his hands through her hair.  They would make love, and he would draw every pleasure out from her body that he could.

Curled up into a ball on the rotting straw mattress, he thinks of Hawke, and sleeps.

~^~

**Epilogue:**

 “You are a hard woman to track down, Champion.”

Hawke looked up and dropped the axe, her hands automatically moving to the daggers she still habitually wore by her side.

“Marian?” Bethany’s voice sang out from inside.

“Stay inside, Bethany,” Hawke replied, her fingers twitching over the hilts.  She would not draw steel until the stranger proved her intent.

Bethany, of course, ignored her, and walked out of the house with her staff in hand.  She stood beside Marian and glared at the woman in front of them.

“So finally the Templars come,” she said.  “It’s taken you long enough.”

“I am not a Templar,” the woman replied, “And I did not come for you.  It is your sister I want.”

“What do you want from me?” Hawke asked.

“Your help,” the woman said.

“My help?” Hawke forced a laugh.  “My help should be the last thing the Templars want, given what happened in Kirkwall.”

“I have been to Kirkwall, and I have spoken to one of your former companions.  What happened in Kirkwall was… regrettable.”

“What does that mean?” Hawke said warily.

“Things are more complicated than you realise, Champion.  What happened in Kirkwall is part of a larger pattern.  Anders' actions were just one spark among many.”

“Anders-”  Hawke caught her breath.  She hadn’t heard his name in years.  “Have you found him?”

The woman stared steadily at her for a long second, as if weighing her words.  “No,” she said shortly.  “The maleficar remains free. Or dead.”

“He was no maleficar,” Hawke said.  “Whatever else he might have been – he was never that.”

“He was your lover,” the woman said, as if that was evidence against him. “But that does not matter now.  What matters is that the Divine needs you.”

“The Divine?”  Hawke could hardly believe her ears.  “Needs _me_?”

“Yes.”  The woman pulled herself up to her full height.  “My name is Cassandra Pentaghast, and I am a Seeker of the Chantry.  I have been sworn to bring you back to her.”

“What for?”

“The Veil has been torn asunder.  She needs Champions.  Men and women who stand up for what they believe in, despite the odds.  You have proved yourself capable in that.”

Hawke regarded her.  She seemed sincere.

“She’s going nowhere without me,” Bethany said, stepping closer to Hawke.  Marian’s hand found her sister's.

Cassandra regarded them both.  “Very well,” she said.  “We leave at dawn.”


End file.
